


「Love, Truly; 真誠的，愛你」

by yuren



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, MSBY Roster Spoilers, Mild Language, Soft Miya Atsumu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26339416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuren/pseuds/yuren
Summary: Atsumu wants the ninja to stop cutting the fucking onions.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 161





	「Love, Truly; 真誠的，愛你」

“Miya Atsumu, what in the world are you doing?”

The frazzled blond freezes. You stop to his right as he looks up sheepishly from his task.

“What does it look like I’m doin’, Y/n-chan?” Atsumu masks a smooth drawl as he tries to look collected. With his watery eyes and futile attempts at hiding his choked-up sobs, Atsumu only succeeds in looking like a sniffling big baby.

He leans his face down towards yours in expectation of a kiss. You give him a short and sweet peck, holding back a grin. It’s not every day that you get the MSBY star setter in your kitchen, and you can’t say you’ve ever seen him so unkempt and in tears, one hand palming an abused onion like he would a volleyball and gripping a – _is that a bread knife?_ – in the other.

“I’ll be getting a full one from ya,” Atsumu declares, raising the knife in the air like a spear, “Once I finish mincing this stupid plant and stop smelling like it.”

You snort at his antics, moving to the counter on his left, far away from the knife-wielding hand.

“So, any reason why you’re wearing that apron?”

“Sweetheart, what d’ya think? You’re the college-educated one in this relationship,” Atsumu snarks half-heartedly, turning his attention back to the poor, bruised onion. Whatever deterrent his tone is supposed to deliver isn’t working, not when he is wearing a baby blue “Kitchen Goddess” apron that barely reaches his thighs.

You are clearly amused by his current state of being, and for some godforsaken masochistic reason, it both aggravates and eases him.

“I meant _my_ apron specifically when Osamu’s more fitting, ‘The World’s Okayest Brother’ one is literally right there,” you point out as you reach towards the tissue box.

He turns to you in disbelief.

“I’m the world’s best brother, excuse you, and you know ‘Samu’ll not hesitate to commit fratricide.” He pauses to let you carefully dab at his cheeks. “In case you forgot, the last time I was here, he threatened to put me through the food processor if I do so much as breathe in this kitchen. You think I’ll touch his apron again?”

Atsumu waves the knife haphazardly as he points in the general direction of the innocuous machine that his twin threatened him with. You shrink back a little.

Osamu’s and, to a lesser degree, your worst kitchen nightmare is Atsumu. You can’t just pretend that the blond Miya didn’t melt your exorbitantly expensive electronic rice cooker by putting it on the stove when he was here last month. (He argued that since he got it for you in the first place, he could just get you a new one, but you explained to him that that was beyond the point.) Nor could you will away the inexcusable fact that he absolutely trashed Osamu’s yearlong ferment by blindly ignoring the various bolded variations of “DO NOT TOUCH” and “‘TSUMU, STAY THE FUCK AWAY” labels that had covered all surfaces of the fermenting jar _and_ the box that it was held in. At that point, no amount of “Y/N-CHAN, SAVE ME!!!” and “YOU CAN’T MURDER YOUR OWN TWIN!!!” could have spared Atsumu from a berserk Osamu.

“Maybe if you stop overcompensating with your cologne whenever you plan on cooking for me, he wouldn’t know you’ve been in here. You know he’s super sensitive to the smell. ”

Atsumu, still gripping the knife, turns to you fully with a widening smirk.

“Overcompensatin’?” He fakes a suave lilt, but with his still stinging eyes and bread knife in hand, you can’t deny that he resembles less your boyfriend and more an off-brand psychopath at this point. “Y/n-chan, what on earth have I got to overcompensate for?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you grin back, “Maybe Osamu can give you some tips.”

His smirk turns a bit more predatory even as he puts down the knife.

“Sweetheart.” Atsumu paces over. “The only thing the Kakashi-wannabe of a Gordon Ramsay can give me tips on is how to cut a fuckin’ onion without the goddamn waterworks.”

“Actually, he can probably also–“

“Nuh-uh, sweet cheeks, I ain’t done talkin’ yet.” Atsumu shushes you as he traps you against the cheap plastic counter.

The air changes as his glossy eyes wander your face before holding your own slightly misty gaze in his.

“My dear brother may be cooking all the fuckin’ Michelin-starred meals for his roommate on a daily basis.” Atsumu falters, eyes softening. “But I’m the one that took this weekend off to prepare my girlfriend the best goddamn meal I can, even if it means lettin’ you see me cry over these stupid onions.”

You’re certain that the pressure prickling at your eyes isn’t from his overwhelming onion scent at this point.

“So, sweetheart,” he continues quietly, enclosing your hands in his own. “This might not be the best meal— Fuck, this’ll probably taste like Michelin-grade shit, but please, just pretend you’re proud of me for tryin’.”

Your breath hitches. You watch as his gaze drops down to your entwined hands, thumb gently rubbing circles on your skin. Whether he’s trying to soothe your silent tears or his own dried ones, you feel overwhelmed by the honesty of his love and needs in the firm, rhythmic presses of his skin against yours.

“Hey, Atsumu,” you begin softly, “Look at me, love.”

Your eyes meet, and you guide his up till you are focusing up at him. His eyes are still a bit red, but it’s his expression, one of a seeking child’s, that makes your heart truly ache.

“Atsumu, my love, I’ll say this now and as many times as I need to,” you smile tenderly, “I am and always will be proud of you. I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression otherwise.”

You pause as he drops his head on your shoulder and anchors you into a tight embrace.

“I don’t know what happened in practice this past month,” you continue, hand moving up to card through his hair, “And you can tell me on your own time or not at all. But regardless of what happened or will happen, I love you, I’m proud of you, and I’m here for you.”

He mumbles something too quiet for you to hear.

“Sorry, love, could you repeat that?”

You feel his broad chest exhale against your own.

“Even if I’m the worst setter in Japan?” He asks hoarsely.

You tighten your arms around him.

“Yes, no matter what,” you reply firmly, “Atsumu, you told me you liked me on the day that Osamu introduced us in my first year. You stayed up talking to me when I was sick and homesick. You trusted me when you suggested I move in with Osamu in my second year. You first told me that you loved me when I decided not to transfer to the college closer to you. And you still love me when we’re lucky to see each other even monthly.”

You pull away to cradle his face in your hands.

“Miya Atsumu, in all honesty, you and everything you do overwhelm me,” you laugh softly through your tears, “It takes all of me to keep up with you, and I’m still trying to figure it out.”

You lean in closer.

“But I will not trade any bit of you for the world.”

You feel your hands dampen. Leaning up, you kiss him fully, hoping to pour into your kiss all the love he has for you and more.

For the first time in a month, as he returns your kiss just as fully, Atsumu smiles, truly, sincerely, entirely. 

In this moment, Miya Atsumu feels that the world is simply all right again. 

**Bonus:**

“So you’re tellin’ me that I leave you two alone for two days, at your request mind you, and you broke my German bread knife ‘cause it looked the least dangerous, and you used it to chop up everythin’?”

Miya Atsumu sees his life’s credits begin to roll.

“And you’re tellin’ me that out of everythin’ you could’ve made, your walkin’ disaster of a fucking Godzilla’s ass decided on made-from-scratch beef hamburg just so you could impress your girlfriend?”

Miya Atsumu wonders whether Bokkun or Omi-kun would miss him more.

“And for all this to happen, you somehow sweet-talked poor Y/n-san into leaving the kitchen under your care again as you thoroughly obliterate both my bread knife and food processor.”

As he hears Osamu take a deep breath, Atsumu can only hope that you will be sympathetic enough to exclude his brother and Cain of a murderer from his funeral.

“‘Tsumu—”

“‘Samu, wait! Can I hang up and call Y/n-chan first before you put me through the food processor?”

Osamu looks at his phone as if his twin just told him that he did manage to grow Godzilla’s ass.

“You’re a real fuckin’ idiot of a sandwich, ya’know that?”

“Woah, woah, woah. Let’s not go overboard with the attacks now,” Atsumu cries.

Atsumu flinches when he hears Osamu sigh. 

“‘Tsumu, there were better ways to deal with this than worryin’ your girlfriend to death,” Osamu chides, “Not bein’ able to sync with Hinata in the first month like Kageyama did doesn’t negate your worth as a setter, much less as a person.”

Atsumu is sure someone is constantly following him around and cutting fucking onions.

“You can cry.” Atsumu can hear the grin in his brother’s voice. “I won’t tell Y/n-san you cried twice in three days already, especially when she called me for help, sobbing about how you both got onion juice everywhere.”

“Shaddup! I ain’t cryin’!” 

Atsumu swears to never eat fucking onions in his life ever again.

“Okay, world’s okayest brother.”

“I’m not.”

“Uh huh.”


End file.
